


We Did Not Mean That Literally

by KPP (mad2Bhere)



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Biblical References, Boys Kissing, Incorrect Biblical References, M/M, Pre-Apocalypse, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 12:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad2Bhere/pseuds/KPP
Summary: In which Rook fights a completely different war without even noticing.





	We Did Not Mean That Literally

 

All his life Rook was never good at anything.

His grades weren't exactly bad but not really impressive, either. He was never among the first to be voted into a team but not among the last, either. He wasn't popular but had a handful of close friends. No special skills, just average in every way.

For some reason he thought things would be different in Hope County but it turns out he's still his regular, completely unremarkable self even in a new place. He's not a very good deputy and not a bad one. People don't dislike him but he's no one's favorite pal, either.

And then the cult happens.

Rook manages not to die, but that's about his only achievement. While he keeps getting captured by Seeds the Sheriff fortifies the old prison and holds it like a fortress against the advance of a few dozen angels. He doesn't even have a single rocket launcher for that.

Rook's only fought one angel so far and just barely survived by the skin of his teeth. He never wants to see another one, so he's been staying away from Faith's region.

Jacob's is just as bad with its hellhounds – the Whitetails still call them _wolves_ , all casual-like, talk about putting them down like the animals they are. About destroying wolf beacons like it's that simple.

Rook's just not cut out for this. At all.

John's region is considerably less nightmarish, so he feels like this is where he can be most useful.

He didn't except to end up flying a plane for the second time in his life, about to have a dog fight with Joseph Seed's younger brother.

He didn't except to win said dog fight.

He didn't expect it to be _easy_.

And yet it kind of is. John's plane goes down  way easier than any angel ever would, goes down and _stays down_. But there's a tiny white parachute indicating that John's not dead yet – Rook will have to pursue him.

Unfortunately no one's ever taught him how to land. It's easier to just jump out and let his own plane go where it will, trusting his own parachute to get him down.

They end up in a forest, not too far away from John's bunker. John's running from him for a while, but his wounds slow him down. He has to realize that as well, turns around and doubles back, forcing Rook to retreat behind a tree to keep clear of his first panicked shots. He drops down low, draws his gun and holds his breath.

Just when he decides to make his move, to jump out of cover and try to take a shot, it happens.

Rook's shot doesn't hit its mark and neither does John's, but both of them hit something else instead.

The rider stands between them, doesn't even flinch at getting shot at from both sides. Only his horse – a grey one this time, the fur and skin on its hind legs flaking off every time it shifts – neighs indignantly. A trembling, necrotic hand reaches out to Rook, grey skin stretched taut over too long bones, and points a finger at him like an accusation, the rest of his body hidden underneath a shapeless black robe. Each breath the rider takes sounds like a chain rattling, a broken cough stuck deep in a ruined throat.

The world around them starts to slow down, grows silent, grows dark and cold and _empty_.

But Rook's been through this once before, is already emptying his clip into the robed figure, aiming for the black space beneath the hood where the face should be. Then he darts back behind a tree and checks his pockets for explosives.

That's the one thing that always, always works. Everything dies if you throw enough dynamite at it.

And the riders are slow. Not like the angels with their large black wings and their flaming swords, or the hellhounds with their two heads and eight legs. The riders can only kill someone if they get close, close enough to touch, unarmed as they are.

And Rook has enough explosives to dynamite it to death before that happens.

He dodges and weaves between the trees, always heading away from those already turning brown and dead as the rider gets closer, lighting fuses and throwing explosives over his shoulder without looking where he's aiming. He doesn't even need to anymore. Not at this point.

At this point it's almost routine.

He only stops once the trees stop dying, and the sounds of startled wildlife and distant shooting returns. Once the colors turn vibrant and everything comes back to life again. Once he can breathe without tasting blood and rot on his tongue. Only then does he turn around.

The corpse is still pointing at him, its fingers twitching even as it slowly turns to dust. Likewise the horse still has its dead, maggot-filled eyes aimed at him, neighing softly as its devoured from the inside out. Not dead, but dying.

And then there is John Seed, kneeling on the ground a few feet away from the rider, hands outstretched like he wants to touch but doesn't quite dare to do so. His gun lies next to him, discarded, but he makes no move for it even though he seems mostly uninjured.

When he finally does speak he sounds more confused and unsettled than Rook's ever heard him.

"What have you done?"

"What I've been doing for the past few weeks. I killed your Chosen."

John needs a few seconds to process that, to look from the rider to Rook and back again like he doesn't get what Rook's saying.

"You think that... that... _thing_ was one of my men? You think – you killed others like it?"

Huh. To be honest Rook just assumed the riders are John's, since Faith has the angels and Jacob has the hellhounds. Unlike regular Peggies they follow Rook into every region, though, so perhaps the riders are Joseph's?

John's staring is starting to become slightly uncomfortable.

"Joseph always said it was inevitable. That it couldn't be stopped. But you stopped it. You stopped Pestilence."

Rook just snorts.

"Everything dies."

Even if some things, some _people_ are more difficult to kill than others. Have probably pumped so full of bliss that they don't even register pain unless Rook utterly obliterates them.

Slowly Rook reloads his gun while keeping his eyes on the youngest Seed brother the whole time, but John just keeps sitting there. When he's done Rook aims the gun at his head, finger resting loosely on the trigger. He wonders if John will get up again like an angel, or if he won't even feel the pain like a rider.

All the rules he used to believe in don't seem to apply to Hope County, and no one except him gives a shit. No one sees anything weird in that. Only Rook is struggling, every day.

The gun in his hand starts trembling as John gets back to his feet, moves towards him, palms open and up.

A gesture that means nothing when Rook has to fight men who can kill with a touch, with a breath, with a whisper.

The Chosen are tough, and the Heralds have to be even tougher. That's just how these things work. Rook's not sure he'll be able to do this without backup.

"Release Hudson. And all the other prisoners." He says it like he means it, like he expects John to listen, like he has any way of getting John to do what he wants. Like this will not end with Rook being torn apart.

He's not special. He's not as strong or as smart or as durable as everyone else seems to be.

Even so Rook's not afraid, hasn't been afraid for a long time.

His luck was always going to run out eventually.

"Yes. Anything. Anything you want."

Wait, what?

He's so shocked he misses his moment, misses it completely because suddenly John is right in front of him, pushing his gun down with one clammy hand. Suddenly there are hands framing his face, caressing him like he's important. Blue eyes that are right there, right where they shouldn't be, close enough that Rook can see himself reflected in them.

There's a sharp, confusing moment when John's fingers dig in, when he leans forward with a choked, desperate noise in his throat and Rook just stands there, unable to stop him.

For all his rough, jagged edges John's kiss is surprisingly soft and warm. Just a touch, barely there. Careful almost. His eyes are fever-bright, mad with whatever it is that only the Seeds can see.

"Anything you ask for, anything you need. We will give it to you. Because you will save everyone."

Rook doesn't get it. He doesn't get anything.

He just doesn't want to fight any angels anymore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ... no, really.  
> This is the one DLC the game needs to have.


End file.
